Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

“I’m calling you for a few reasons,” Frank says. “For one, I’d like to apologize.”

“For what?”

“When the résumés came across my desk for the new magazine, I assumed incorrectly that you already had a position there. Mark and I had talked extensively about putting you in charge of the Creative Department, so I assumed your résumé was sitting there as a protocol thing, not for actual consideration. Your vision really shaped the entire concept of what we’re looking to do, and I felt you, above everyone else, myself included, were the best choice in leading our company into this new sector.”

The phone almost slips from my hands. His words are drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

“Well, thank you for that vote of confidence,” I reply. “It’s too bad I wasn’t selected to work on the new project at all.”

“That’s the second reason I’m calling, Neely. Not promoting you was an oversight on our part. On my part. I’ll take responsibility for it. But I also have to take responsibility for correcting wrongs, and not having you leading that team is definitely a wrong.”

“What are you saying?” I ask. I pick out a little pebble on the ground and stare at it.

“I’m saying we want you back. I want you back. I don’t hold it against you for quitting for one second. I would’ve quit too. As a matter of fact, if you hadn’t, I would’ve been disappointed.”

I hop off the table, unable to sit still any longer. “You want me back. How? In what capacity?”

“I want you to lead the Creatives. I want you to direct our approach to this thing. What types of articles are we publishing? What images are we showing? I want you to be the one to present me with a final version of anything that goes out so I know it’s been through you first.”

Tears sting my eyes as I realize what he’s saying. He’s giving me the one thing I’ve always wanted, the platform I’ve begged for. Prayed for. Quit for. He’s giving me the only thing I’ve ever set my heart on.

A car backs out of a parking space in front of me and a horn honks. A window rolls down and Mia and Keyarah wave. “Bye, Neely,” they shout.

My hand comes up, but it doesn’t quite move. I can’t move. I can only listen to Frank tell me he wants me back in two days.

Two.

Days.

Before Manicure Day.

Before the Summer Show.

Before I have time to break this to Dane and Mia in a way they deserve.

“I’ll give you ten percent more than we were offering for the position you applied for,” he says. “You’re worth it. This project depends on you.”

I watch the car disappear from sight. But so do they.

I shake my head to focus. “Can I also point out that Lynne stole my ideas and no one thought anything about that? And that it’s taken this long for you to even realize I’m gone?”

“That’s not true, Neely. Your resignation came to my desk the day after it was filed.”

“And my contributions to the company weren’t enough for you to call me before now?” I ask. “I gave everything I had to that company, Frank. I gave it my all for a very long time. And then this happens, and I’ll admit, I’m not really feeling valued.”

“I’ll shoulder the blame for that as well. Your name has been on a sticky note since the day I realized you were gone. I originally thought it was a two-week notice, which would’ve had you still here or close to it. I didn’t realize at the time it was effective immediately.” He blows out a breath. “I’m in over my head here, Neely. We’re trying to do a lot of things, trying to break down those doors you talk about all the time. But I can’t do it without someone who feels as passionately about it as you do. Come back. Help us. Let’s make a dent in this industry.”

Those words are all I’ve wanted to hear since I stood in my cap and gown and received my diploma. If I don’t go back, if I don’t try, I’ll always wonder what I could’ve accomplished—wonder if I could’ve done all the things I wrote down in my journal with a sunflower on it that’s under my pillow in New York.

“Can you be back in two days?” he asks. “I know this is impromptu, but we’ve committed to the launch dates, and I have to be sure we can pull them off.”

A single tear rolls down my face as my mouth says the words my heart can’t. “I’ll be there, Frank.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

NEELY

Hi, honey!” Mom greets me from the kitchen. The house smells like pie and roast beef. It sours my stomach. “I’m making a raisin pie for Mr. Rambis, but I made you a coconut cream pie too. So no jealousy, all right?” She pokes her head around the corner. “Honey. What’s wrong?”